Vegeta, Bulma and blown up Toasters
by Chocolate Jenni
Summary: Chapter 3 now uploaded! Gripping, funny, and reeeeally sweet B/V fic. Nuff' said. Please R&R, me love constructive critism. Or flames, they make me laugh.
1. Default Chapter

Nope, I don't own dbz or any of the characters mentioned, although it would be neat to own Vegeta. This is set in the three years training they get before the androids come. I don't own Lethal Weapon 2 either, by the way. Don't actually want to own that.  
  
Oh, and no offence to Texan people in chap 2. I'm English. I don't exactly know what the Texan accent sounds like. So . . . deal.  
  
Read. Enjoy. Review. End my random bore-ness.  
  
"See you later Vegeta. There's food in the fridge if you're hungry, and the key to the pantry is in the third drawer if you run out." He snorts, accepting the information ungraciously as usual, although I'm certain even the pantry will be empty by the time we return at the rate he eats. I turn towards the waiting car, then rush back.  
  
"Vegeta, pass me the house keys from the rack, will you?"  
  
"Are you incapable of such a simple task?" he growls, and I can feel my anger bubbling up. I swear, sometimes Vegeta is so inconsiderate. . .  
  
"Catch." I look up just in time to catch the bundle of keys flying towards me in both hands. Vegeta turns away and closes the door behind him. I clench my teeth, but let it go and head back to the car.  
  
"Hey, beautiful, what took you so long?" Yamcha greets, turning on the charm higher than usual. I smile and sit down on the leather seat, ignoring the instant suction to my bare legs below my skirt.  
  
"So, what are we seeing?" I ask as he pulls away and begins to drive down the narrow road.  
  
"Lethal Weapon 2," he says enthusiastically. I sigh. Not another cops and robbers film. Sometimes it's like Yamcha thinks of no one but himself . . . he notices the disappointment on my face, and puts his left arm round my shoulder, his right on the steering wheel.  
  
"Or there's always that romantic flick about the man who falls in love with the rich mans daughter, whatever you prefer . . . " I smile warmly at him.  
  
"Thanks Yamcha."  
  
We carry on driving and eventually reach the motorway; almost deserted -which is strange for this time of night. I let myself float amongst my own thoughts and the humid night air as we drive along.  
  
I've been in love for about five months now. Well, I realised my feelings only two weeks ago, but I've always known deep down how I felt, just never admitted it to myself or anyone else. And it's not just the fake use of the word that lovesick teenagers use when they talk about their boy or girlfriend about a week before they dump and suddenly despise them -I'm sure this is real love.  
  
We reach the cinema and walk in, Yamcha putting a protective arm around my shoulder again. I try to concentrate but my previous thoughts rush into my head as we stand in line for the ticket.  
  
Every time I'm near him it's like . . . suddenly the world isn't so bad anymore. It's as if everything stops when he walks in a room. And when I talk to him it takes every bit of dignity and resistance I have not to cry in his arms and confess everything, just be wrapped in the comfort of his warm, strong arms and cry into his chest. That's gotta be love, right? I can't stop thinking about him. His shiny black hair, his dark eyes . . .  
  
"Hey Bulma, what flavour do you want? Toffee or plain?"  
  
"Huh?" I'm knocked back into reality by Yamcha's query.  
  
"Popcorn. What flavour?" he repeats, looking slightly worried.  
  
"Oh. Erm, plain." He pays and we walk towards the screen. On the way we pass an attractive, blonde haired woman dressed only in a skimpy dress that barely covers her too-big-to-be-natural cleavage. She gives Yamcha a flirty smile and he smiles back.  
  
"Yamcha!" I scold, hitting him lightly on the arm. He looks down guiltily.  
  
"Sorry, Bulma. You know I'm only kidding right?" I agree reluctantly, but deep down sometimes I wonder.  
  
The film drags on way longer than needed, and eventually we leave. On the journey home he seems uneasy, which is very unusual for Yamcha. He's usually so confident and full of energy, mostly the reasons I decided to date him. I decide to try to make conversation.  
  
"So, did you like the film?"  
  
"Yeah, it was ok." Now I know something's wrong. I'm surprised he doesn't start whining about how awful it was, such a chick flick, we should have seen Lethal Weapon 2.but he just stays silent and keeps his eyes on the road. Never one for silence, I begin to blab on embarrassingly about the crude special effects, and other technical things he doesn't understand.  
  
We finally reach my house after what seems an eternity of me babbling about god knows what. He walks me to the front door and leans forward to kiss me. It's a short peck, and I'm about to walk inside when he says, "Bulma, you know I love you, right? It might not seem like it sometimes, but I do." I smile comfortingly at him.  
  
"Is that's what's been bothering you? You didn't know how to tell me?" he looks as though I've just given him an excuse he hadn't thought of, and nods shamefully. I don't believe it for a second.  
  
"Well, me too," I lie. We kiss again, and this time it's more passionate. I feel his tongue enter my mouth but I'm too tired to resist. The kiss breaks off and I whisper a goodnight before entering the house. When I'm sure he's driven off I sit down on a table and begin to cry, because I had lied to Yamcha. It's not him that I love.  
  
It's Vegeta.  
  
  
  
I throw an array of punches forward, then spin round and focus my energy into the muscles of my leg, kicking it forward with a stone-shattering force. Wasting no time, I spin round and do a back flip, landing firmly on the wall and pushing myself off into the air, gathering speed to perform a huge forceful punch on the empty air before me. I float down to the floor and breathe deeply, sweat dipping from my brow and the scratch on my thigh bleeding badly. But no time can be wasted -I'm still not strong enough. I fly up again and jab the air with my fists, fighting against nothing for a good hour before I finally let myself go, and collapse into a pile on the floor. Pain surges through my leg, and my head is throbbing like a bomb has gone off inside it. Every inch of my bones ache. I lay still on the cold tiles, just breathing heavily and trying to block out the agony that is clenching every part of my body.  
  
I can't just lay here like the weaklings I despise . . . I have to get up, and train more, otherwise Kakerott's just going to get stronger and stronger while I am left in his dust. Damn Kakerott, why should he be so much stronger than me? I've tried everything I can to over take him, but still he prevails. Why?! I tell myself I have to get up, but when I lean forward my back surges with pain.  
  
"Hey, Vegeta, need some help?" I spin round as much as I can, to see Bulma standing idly at the doorway, a smirk on her face. She must be back from her date with that pathetic excuse for a man . . . he's cheating on her with about every woman for five miles, I just don't know what Bulma sees in him! I suddenly realise what bad shape I'm in. She can't see me like this! Not in this pitiful state! I force myself up, but my leg gives way and I start to fall forward. Without a seconds thought Bulma is pulling me up before I hit the ground, her delicate arms wrapped round my waist.  
  
"I don't need your help! Get off me!" I roar at her, shoving her away, but the moment her surprisingly strong arms leave me I begin to stumble again, only to be saved by her a second time. I grunt reluctantly in acknowledgement that I need her help, and she supports me as I limp over to the wall. It is only then that I notice how amazing she looks. A short red skirt that shows her soft thighs, and a tight shirt that loosens at the sleeves and dangles over her hands . . .god she looks good. Her hair is soft and lush, her eyes glistening and as beautiful as ever. It makes me feel . . . nothing! I refuse to feel anything for this weak human female! Such a pimp shouldn't make me feel like that! That all I want is to take her into my arms, and feel her heat against my chest, protect her from the world in her own private bubble, to love her and caress her body and . . .  
  
"You look pretty bad. Let me take you inside, Vegeta." She says. Not a question.  
  
"No, I'm fine!" I argue, even as she leads me out the door.  
  
"You don't look fine. What's this cut?" she points to the bleeding crimson mess on my thigh.  
  
"It's just a scratch."  
  
"It looks like a bit more than a scratch. Come on, let me clean you up." I try to break away but I immediately stumble and eventually let her lead my limping form inside. She leads me to the kitchen and instructs me to sit on the counter like a child, but suddenly I'm too dizzy to do anything but follow her orders with a faint growl every now and then. My head swims as she peels down my suit to the waist and proceeds to wash the wounds that line my chest.  
  
"Here, wrap this around." She supplies me with a bandage.  
  
"I don't need it."  
  
"Yes you do." I give in and wrap the cotton fabric round my wounds tightly, still failing to see the point. On planet Vegeta we saiyans didn't reduce ourselves to such pitiful healing techniques, we just fought it out until the wound healed by itself! After a while I regain my senses, and realise I'm laid flat on the counter covered in bandages, with a worried Bulma wiping a cold cloth across my forehead. I don't like this feeling. It's new and a saiyan shouldn't feel this, damnit! I shove her off and lower myself down from the table.  
  
"I'm fine now, woman. You were just a hindrance. I'm going to bed." She looks hurt, but I can't understand why. I will never fully understand the ways of these humans.  
  
"Not that I care, but what is it?" I ask.  
  
"What? Oh, nothing. Goodnight Vegeta."  
  
"Hmph." I snort, and limp my way to my bedroom.  
  
  
  
"INFERNAL DEVICE!" I wake up to the sound of Vegeta screaming. No doubt at something in the kitchen he still hasn't learnt and refuses to ask how to use. I open one eye lazily and check my clock. Well not my clock exactly, I borrowed it from Krillin after Vegeta set the one I leant him to 4.20 in the morning by accident and didn't know how to turn it off. The wall is still charred black where he used a ki blast on it.  
  
The numbers flash 9:37. I push off my sheets and practically roll over to my wardrobe, pulling out a short blue skirt and loose t-shirt and putting them on sleepily.  
  
"DAMNIT!" There's a loud explosion from the kitchen. What's broken this time . . . ?  
  
"Woman! Your primitive bread cooking machine needs repairing!" he calls in. I sigh. That was a brand new toaster.  
  
"Coming Vegeta." When I reach the kitchen I find him sitting down angrily, munching cold bread. There's a pile of smouldering metal and a patch of peeling wallpaper where the toaster used to be.  
  
"Vegeta, you can't just blow up everything you don't know how to use."  
  
"I'll do whatever I want." He replies stubbornly. I can feel myself getting angry with him, something that happens all to often. I don't even try to keep my anger under control.  
  
"Just because you're too stupid to work out how to press a button doesn't mean you need to blow the hell out of my kitchen!" I yell at him fiercely. He stands up and faces me, eyebrow twitching.  
  
"Well if you weren't so lazy and woke up early, you could use it and I wouldn't have to blow it up when it breaks!"  
  
"I'm not your maid!"  
  
"You should be, woman!" I can't believe it. Not even Vegeta should have the guts to say that to me. I clench my teeth, raise my hand, and slap him, before lowering my hand to my mouth is disbelief of what I've just done. He steps back in shock and instinctively covers his cheek, but not before I see a red mark appear. I immediately feel guilty.  
  
"Oh, Vegeta, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry . . . " I reach forward to touch his hand but he shakes me off. He mutters something under his breath and walks out quickly.  
  
When he's gone I sit down at the table in total amazement at what I'd just done. I mean, sure me and Vegeta fought -quite a lot in fact -but we never actually went to physical violence . . . I feel like I've broken some kind of rule. I've certainly broken his pride, at least for now.  
  
Why do I have to lose my temper so quickly? How can I sometimes hate him so much, and yet deep down I know that . . . I know that I love him. Maybe I'm just trying to deny that fact by pretending to him, and myself, that I hate him. Even though inside my heart it's plainly obvious who my affections belong with.  
  
I wonder if I should tell him . . . no, he wouldn't understand. Somehow I know that.  
  
"Well I can't just sit here moping around," I say aloud to myself. The sound of my voice is surprisingly reassuring, and so I decide to pay Yamcha a visit. At least he'll want me around. I pick up my car keys and leave the house out the back door, purposefully avoiding the Time and Space Chamber for fear of bumping into Vegeta.  
  
  
  
An engine revs outside, and I hear the familiar sound of Bulma's car driving down the gravely path. I sit and listen till it disappears completely.  
  
"Hmph. I hope that damn woman never returns." I growl to the thin air, but secretly I know it's a lie. Despite the throbbing red mark on my cheek. I ignore it and proceed to lifting weights. I have to concentrate fully; I can't let my attention wander because I know I'll end up thinking about her. My muscles tense as I bring the weight toward me, and I look out of the window to the soft blue sky. No clouds, all I can see is blue.the blue of Bulma's hair. No! Not Bulma! Concentrate on.beating Kakerott. Yes, that's it. Kakerott . . .  
  
I spend the next few hours randomly thinking of my blue-eyed tormentor, until finally I give myself a break and go inside.  
  
"Damn Vegeta, always so smug, God he's so annoying . . . " I mutter virtually inaudibly as I drive along the highway. A car suddenly pulls out in front of me from the inside lane, and totally losing it I shout, "Hey! Why don't you get your ass out from in front of me and get proper driving lessons, you fat shit!" He yells something back, but I'm already over it and ignore every word he says. I drive some more, silent both verbally and mentally. I almost miss Yamcha's exit when it comes along, and end up swerving to try and make it without the car skidding into the grass.  
  
Yamcha's house is dark when I pull into the driveway. His shiny red Mercedes is already parked idly on the gravel, so he must be home . . . I check my watch suspiciously and sigh a breath of relief when I realise it's only 10.15. He must be still asleep -he has a reputation as a late riser. I try to dismiss any random thoughts I was having, but somehow it feels like they were more than just straying thoughts . . . more premonitions. It's strange, sometimes I think there's something more to him than meets the eye. I mean, I know he's sweet and honest and everything, but, it's just the little things that get me. Like last night, with the big cleavage woman. If he does things like that when I'm there to stop him, I can't imagine what he does when I'm not . . .  
  
"Don't be stupid Bulma!" I say aloud, "You must be going mad. It's that fight with Vegeta, it's messed with your head, that's it. You must be going crazy -you're talking to yourself!" I giggle slightly and fumble with the extra key Yamcha gave me in the lock. The door opens quietly. I decide to surprise Yamcha. I creep upstairs, my sneakers not making a sound on the carpet, and nudge open his door. As I suspected, the bed has a head sticking out from under the covers, snoring loudly. But not expected is the female head snuggled up on his chest. I open the door fully and see a pile of clothes piled carelessly on the floor next to the bed. It can't be true . . . maybe she's a sister or old friend? Yeah, Yamcha sleeps with his sister. Right. The reality of the situation sinks in. I don't know what I feel, first it's shock, then anger. I can't believe it . . . how could he be unfaithful? After all we've been through . . . my first reaction is uncontrollable fury. I decide not to wake the sleeping couple, so I silently sneak over to her clothes and pick them up, take them into the walk in bathroom and drop them into the toilet. Next I take the whole contents of his underwear drawer and throw them out of the window. It takes all my resistance not to slam the drawer shut. Behind me, the woman stirs slightly, and in fear I quickly scramble out of the room. I pull my coat down from the hook I'd discarded it on earlier furiously, and just as I'm about to leave, there's a yell from upstairs.  
  
"My underwear!"  
  
I freeze. He's awake. I stand on the bottom stair, regain control over my legs and race toward the front door. I fumble madly with the lock but it's stuck, look over my shoulder, clear stairs, look back, still fumbling, DAMN DOOR! I'd forgotten how stiff this door is . . . He's going to find me . . . the handle creaks sideways. Come on!!! I pull, hard, and the door slams forward. Finally! I step over the threshold -I'm home free!  
  
"Bulma?" Oh no. I turn my head slowly. Yamcha is standing on the landing wearing only his underwear and a confused look. Behind him the woman pokes her head from behind the door. I suddenly forget my fear and rush of trying to leave and bare my teeth, seething with fury toward my unfaithful boyfriend.  
  
"And who's this?" I yell, pointing wildly at he blonde haired slut. Yamcha stutters shamefully.  
  
"Look Bulma, let me explain!" His tone isn't so much guilty about cheating . . . more frustrated he got caught.  
  
"No, Yamcha, there's nothing to explain! I never want to see your cheating, lying . . . "  
  
"Wait!"  
  
" . . . Pig-headed . . . "  
  
"It's not what you think!"  
  
" . . . Scumbag face again!" I turn around and slam the door. As I back out of the drive I make sure I flatten his mailbox.  
  
Driving home I cool down. I take the back road as a shortcut. The greenery is sort of . . . soothing. I absorb what's just happen and in a way I'm relieved.  
  
  
  
Tires screech in the driveway. The woman's back. I stay in my seat and continue to consume the cold chicken. Even uncooked it's better than the raw insect Nappa and I used to eat.  
  
I hear the door slam and a clattering tells me she's thrown something. She's angry. I'm certain that he idiot boyfriend has done something. It's obvious he's using her.  
  
The kitchen door is open a crack. I watch as Bulma sits on the stairs and rests her face in her hands. She begins to make strange noises. I don't know what's happening -she might be hurt. If that Yamcha even laid a finger on her . . . I open the door and walk up. Her head snaps up -she has water coming from her eyes.  
  
"Vegeta! I thought you were . . . training . . . " she says slowly. She quickly wipes her face.  
  
"You're leaking woman." She giggles slightly -she has a lovely giggle.  
  
"Its called crying Vegeta. Have you never cried before?" Yes. I have. I think back to when I died on Namek, that day when I "cried" and poured my whole heart and past out to Kakerott. I was scared and knew Frieza as going to end my miserable life . . . so I had cried. I told Bulma this unashamedly.  
  
"Vegeta." then she started leaking again, covering her face in with her hands.  
  
"Stop it woman! You're not going to die -so why cry so much?" she looks hurt.  
  
"I can cry all I want! It's my whole life that's just been ruined! I might as well just die!" she gets up and runs upstairs, slamming the door behind her.  
  
"That's not what I . . . meant . . . " I growl. I touch my cheek. She hadn't hit me -but it sure as hell felt like she had. I just mutter insults about her under my breath and wander off. I can't help wondering what had happened with wonder boy. He must have really hurt her. And all I did was shout.  
  
I suddenly feel something deep in my gut. At first I just think I'm ill, but I'm not suffering from any other symptoms, this strange feeling must be something else. It must be an emotion. Guilt? I'm feeling guilty?  
  
"Damn humans! Changing my feelings! If I don't watch out I'll be as soft as a woman soon . . . "  
  
I walk back into the kitchen and pick up my unfinished chicken. I look around and suddenly an idea hits me. As quietly as I can I creep outside, hover above the ground and fly up over the horizon.  
  
  
  
"Vegeta?" no reply. An investigation round the house leaves me wondering where he is. I check the training room -no sign of him. I decide to face the black hole of room that he claims to sleep in. There's no one in his bedroom either, but overcome with curiosity I start poking around and going through his stuff. I've never been in his room since he came to stay with us -I've never seen the need, not even been the slightest bit curious before.  
  
There are clothes scattered all over the floor, and also a bloody bandage draped over the chair. It must be the one I gave him yesterday . . . oh he's so stubborn; he'll never accept help when he needs it. All of his drawers are all ajar, and inside there is all different kind of training weights. I try to pick one up, but can't even lift it a centimetre. I pull with all my strength, and raise my arm, silently cheering myself as I swing the weight up and over my head. Then, unable to handle the weight I open my fingers and the metal goes flying to the other side of the room. It travels over the bed and then just goes straight down. Straight down through the floorboards. I gape at the hole, and crawl onto the bed to get a better look, only to realise it had made a hole in the floor of the room underneath too.  
  
Damn. Now Vegeta will know I've been in his room. I throw myself back onto the bed and sigh deeply -then something catches my eye. A small piece of paper pokes out from under the pillow. I pull it out and it's blank, but I turn it round and am put face to face with a photograph of myself.  
  
"Whoa." Vegeta keeps a photo of me under his pillow? That's just . . . weird. Maybe he doesn't even know it's there. Or he has a really short memory span and has to keep a photo of me to remember what I look like? I keep coming up with excuses; I know that what I'm thinking can't be right. That maybe . . . he has feelings for me. No, that's crazy. We fight all the time! Why would he . . . but I love him. Can't it work both ways?  
  
I'm so confused. This is just too much for one day. I'm still not over Yamcha, but in so many ways I was already over him last week. It's not fair . . . why can't my life just be simple? Why can't I just meet one man who I love and who loves me? Everything has to be so complicated . . .  
  
I hear the door shut downstairs. Shit. Vegeta's home. I jump up and bang my forehead on the bedpost hard. Really hard. So hard that my head starts to swim and I fall back onto the bed, blackness the only thing in my vision. I feel like I'm falling down a really deep hole, not quite falling, more floating down blindly. I let out a shrill yell, then feel myself slipping away, and fall unconscious on the bed.  
  
  
  
There's a small scream from upstairs. Bulma! What's happened? Suddenly I'm overcome with worry, and I don't even bother to try and dismiss the discerning feeling. I fly up and over the stairs and check her room. Empty. I race along the corridor, checking every room along the way. There's no one in the bathroom, study, the Briefs' room or the balcony. Which leaves one place.  
  
My bedroom. I pray she's not in there, but simultaneously I hope she is.  
  
She is. I open the door to see her flat on the bed, totally out cold. I quickly stand at her side, and then unsure of what to do next I'm about to pick her up when I notice her hand. Or rather what's in her hand. A small photograph of herself, smiling sweetly. I close my eyes in frustration, and remove the picture from her grasp. Maybe I can convince her she's never seen it . . . I quickly put it into my pocket, and continue to try and pick her up. Just as her limp body leaves the bed her eye's flutter open and she moans in pain.  
  
"Vegeta? What happened?"  
  
"You tell me. I just got back and you were out cold on my bed." I put a subtle emphasis on my. I put her back down and she rubs her forehead, flinching slightly when she touches a dark bruise with the tip of her finger. I pick up the red and white rag hanging over my bedpost.  
  
"Bandage?"  
  
"No thanks, Vegeta." I put it down and just stand awkwardly. She looks sideways and starts to bite one fingernail.  
  
"I'll leave you . . . alone then," I say, and turn toward the door.  
  
"No! I mean, can you help me up?" she asks, still rubbing her head. I oblige and wrap her arm round my shoulder, but as soon as I pull her up she just flops back down and lowers her head.  
  
"Oh no, you're not going unconscious again!" I scold, and pull her back up, holding her head upright. She groans and rests her head on my shoulder.  
  
"I guess I'll stay here then."  
  
  
  
The room spins around me, the ceiling rippling as if it was a pond and had a stone dropped in it. As I slowly regain my senses I part from Vegeta and sit upright on the bed, my arm still around his shoulder. He rubs it gently, reassuringly. It feels nice.  
  
"What happened to you?" he asks.  
  
"Erm, I . . . " I struggle for an excuse as to why I was in his room. "I was looking for you, and I bumped my head really hard to the bedpost . . . " I murmur. He says nothing.  
  
"Where did you go?" He bites his lip.  
  
"Training."  
  
"No you didn't, I checked."  
  
"If you let me finish you would find out I was training with Kakerott!" he says, but doesn't raise his voice.  
  
"With Goku? You hate Goku." I persist. I break away from the warmth of his arms and look at his straight in the eyes.  
  
"Please tell me where you went."  
  
"Fine. I'll be right back," he snarls, admitting defeat. He leaves the room. My head is throbbing pretty badly. I don't even know why I kept on at Vegeta about where he went. Maybe the same curiosity that led me to the photograph . . . the photo! Where is it? I check my hand, and the table. It's gone. He must have seen me with it. I glance absently at the clock to see how long he was out for. 9.12pm -whoa, a whole three hours. He walks back in with his hands behind his back.  
  
"I felt guilty. So I got this." He pulls his arms forward, a shiny metal object in his hands. A toaster. At first I'm just confused, but I soon remember this mornings incident. I smile warmly at him, surprised. I really don't understand Vegeta sometimes. So, he does give a toss about me.  
  
"But where did you get the money, Vegeta?" He grins his infamous grin. It almost makes me melt with desire.  
  
"That's none of your concern." I give him a suspicious smile, and I know at that moment that I'm totally in love with him beyond any doubt. Then I burst into tears.  
  
  
  
She begins to cry again. Is it something I've done? I rush over and sit on the bed next to her.  
  
"What's the matter woman?" I ask. She sobs quietly.  
  
"It's Yamcha . . . I just found him in bed with another woman . . . "  
  
"About time you found out." I snarl. I really do despise that human sometimes. She looks up, her eyes glistening with tears.  
  
"You knew?" I nod. "And you didn't tell me?!"  
  
"It was none of my business."  
  
"Didn't you realise how much it would hurt me -how much it DID hurt me when I found out by myself?"  
  
"I . . . " I hadn't thought of that. I just didn't want to interfere, to get her more against me than she already was. She was right though, I should have told her. Even if she didn't believe me.  
  
"Well I know now anyway . . . oh, Vegeta . . . " she looks into my eyes. I'm suddenly overcome with emotion. Anger toward Yamcha for hurting her, sympathy toward her, confusion about these human rituals . . . but mostly the strange new feeling I've been getting lately. Maybe . . . maybe it's not so bad. I wipe the tears out of her eyes with my thumb, and she leans toward me and wraps her delicate arms around me. I embrace her back comfortingly.  
  
So this is what humans call love.  
  
  
  
I sob silently into Vegeta's shoulder.  
  
"I'm so pathetic . . . " I snivel.  
  
"No you're not. You were too good for him all along." He growls, almost angrily. He's surprisingly good at this comforting thing. That's already four surprises from Vegeta today.  
  
"I remember when we first started looking for the dragonballs. I wanted to wish for my one true love," I half laugh, half weep the next bit, "I actually thought I'd find that with Yamcha. I guess I'll never find true love . . . " Well, true love that goes both ways, I add silently. Vegeta suddenly pulls away from the hug. He looks uncomfortable.  
  
"What's wrong?" I ask, wiping the tears from my cheek.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with me!" he shouts, facing me. My eyes lock with his.  
  
"Vegeta, you just did something really nice. Please don't ruin it now." He snorts.  
  
"What's your problem? You can't handle being half decent for more than twenty minutes? What do you want?!"  
  
"This." And he kisses me.  
  
  
  
I can't believe what I'm doing. And yet some part of my heart knows that this is what I want. I wrap my arms around her waist and our lips meet. She tastes so innocent, like sugar, and yet with a spice of experience, one that I crave. I massage her soft lips with my own, slowly and lovingly, rewarded with a small moan from Bulma. I pull away and whisper three words.  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you too Vegeta."  
  
  
  
I feel my hands go limp around his neck and our kisses get faster and quicker, each one a moment of ecstasy. He pulls me back onto the bed and I lay on him, my mouth moving slowly to his neck. He's such a better kisser than Yamcha. I want him so badly. And I always have. To my dismay he pulls my head up and leaves the bed. He walks over to the door and twists a small switch, the lights dimming. Then he shuts the door and walks back over to the bed.  
  
That night Trunks was conceived.  
  
  
  
When I wake up I'm confused to find a small figure sleeping beside me, it's head on my chest. I part my eyelids to realise its Bulma, breathing gently. Then I remember last night. I grin, a warm feeling inside of me. Bulma stirs and raises her hands from beneath the sheet to rub the sleep out of her eyes.  
  
"Good morning." I greet, running my fingers through her hair. At first she looks shocked.  
  
"Vegeta? Oh, Vegeta." she rests her head back onto my bare chest. We just lay like that for a while, until she breaks the silence.  
  
"Vegeta, last night, before we . . . you know . . . "  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well, you said you loved me . . . "  
  
"I meant every word of it." I reassure her, unashamed to admit my feelings.  
  
"I guess my wish came true then." She says, puzzling me.  
  
"Wish?"  
  
"Yeah, the one I wanted to make to the dragon. About falling in love with my prince." I hug her tight, and never want to let go.  
  
  
  
The phone rings. I glance at the clock. 1.35 in the afternoon. I literally skip into the kitchen, so happy I could sing.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Bulma, it's Krillin." Says the voice on the other end of the line.  
  
"Oh hey Krillin, what's up?" I ask, twisting the phone cable around my finger.  
  
"Well I was just going to head to police . . . "  
  
"Why? What's happened?"  
  
"I was burgled last night. The weird thing is the only thing stolen was my toaster . . . " 


	2. Attack of Aunt Wilma

Disclaimer: No, I don't own any characters mentioned, pregnancy, chicken, doctors . . . if fact, I own very little. So sue me. You won't get much though. You might get a hamster. If he's legally mine . . . I'm not quite sure.  
  
Does anyone care? Thought not.  
  
Enjoy.  
  
I check the paper for a second time. The result hasn't changed, I didn't expect it to, I just need to grasp what it's just told me. The blue shines up at me almost grudgingly. I discard the paper into the toilet and as it flushes down the blue stays face up as if taunting me. The water spins round and round . . . it's enough to trigger my stomach and I'm violently sick into the toilet. I hear footsteps behind me -Vegeta must hear me heaving. He walks in and leans down next to me.  
  
"Come on, cough it all up," he says softly (which is a rare form of speech for Vegeta), and rubs my back comfortingly. I feel more of my lunch rising up my throat and I give in and convulse it out. Vegeta wraps his arm around my shoulder and pats my back gently. It's a very rare occasion that he's so caring . . . and I have to be puking everywhere and ruin it. I finally bring my head up and wipe my mouth with my sleeve.  
  
"You've been . . . doing this . . . thing . . . "  
  
"Vomiting, Vegeta," I supply when he can't find the word.  
  
"You've been vomiting a lot lately." He states.  
  
"Yeah, well . . . I'm just a bit sick that's all . . . " I say. He leaves for the training room and I immediately put on my coat and head for the car.  
  
(Still Bulma but change of scene)  
  
I loosen my grip on the steering wheel and let the jeep cruise down the lane, mud splashing on the glossy paint. The windshield wipers continuously swipe away the rain splodges that are gathering on the glass, courtesy of the raging storm outside. I lean forward and rub the glass with my sleeve to get rid of any steam. Then I sit back and contemplate about my conversation at the doctor's office I just had . . .  
  
"Well, Miss Briefs, we've checked our tests and the results are unanimous. It's positive." I let then words sink in, then I bury my head in my hands. I'd suspected it for a few days but I needed to be sure my life was over.  
  
The doctor gives me a few leaflets and information on what I was about to ordeal in the not too distant future. I'm too shocked, worried and remorseful to do anything but take it all in absently. But even amongst all these negative feelings, I was excited and anticipating the day in which my life would change forever.  
  
The road is quiet and I should be thinking about my current situation, but all I can concentrate on is how Vegeta will react.  
  
  
  
Yamcha is glaring at me from across the kitchen. I can feel his eyes on my back. I despise being stared at. I clench my fists and grind my teeth, gripping into the side of the cabinet to stop myself from launching at him. I slowly look out of the corner of my eye and notice Yamcha doing the same to me. It's infuriating! No one may be so insolent to me, Vegeta, prince of saiyans!  
  
"What do you keep looking at, ass wipe?" I growl viciously.  
  
"An ignorant male slag," he whispers under his breath.  
  
"What was that?" I turn around to face him.  
  
"Oh, stop that games Vegeta, I know you slept with my girlfriend." He says, looking me straight in the eyes.  
  
"What I do with your girlfriend is none of your business!" I yell.  
  
"Well I've just decided to make it my business!" he knocks the chair back and jumps forward to punch me. Pathetic little rat. I grab his fist easily and with my other hand pick him up by the neck and knee him hard in the stomach. He lets out a moan of pain and I quickly shove him down onto the table and shower him with punches, laughing insanely at the same time.  
  
"You must really care about this girl if you're prepared to be beaten senseless for her!" I snarl at him, landing a final punch just below his eye.  
  
"I don't want to stain Bulma's table with your weak blood," I growl, backing off. He just glares at me and lifts himself up.  
  
"What's your problem, Vegeta?" he asks, squinting through fingers cupped over his injured eye.  
  
"Ignorant scum like you." I say quietly. I don't know what he's getting at but I'm sure I won't like it. I decide to be honest. A saiyan should hide nothing!  
  
"You're scum. You cheated on Bulma. Do you even realise how much you hurt her?" I ask, controlling my anger.  
  
"Yeah. I know." He sighs.  
  
"Then why?!"  
  
"Why do you even care?" he asks suspiciously. That one gets me.  
  
"I see," he says almost tiredly, as if everything just clicked into place and now he wanted it to go back to being confused.  
  
"You see what?!" I roar.  
  
"You love her, don't you? It wasn't just a one-night stand. You love her."  
  
Ah.  
  
I can't deny it.  
  
"Hmph." I fold my arms and head toward the door. On the threshold I feel a hand on my shoulder. I don't turn.  
  
"You're a lucky man, Vegeta. She's a great babe. Look after her." I turn to face him and we share a moment, a knowing moment. I nod and then leave, all my hated toward Yamcha gone as quickly as it had arisen.  
  
  
  
Tonight. I'll tell him tonight. When I go to give him his dinner.  
  
Tonight comes all too soon. I stand in the kitchen alone, tapping my fingernails anxiously on the counter in a repetitive rhythm. The microwave whirs tauntingly and I somehow hope the beep will never come. I check the timer.  
  
23.  
  
22.  
  
21 . . . I bite my finer nail and I'm tempted to just disconnect the microwave and spend a while trying to "fix" it. But I'm going to have to face him sometime. I check the timer.  
  
14. 13. 12. I breathe deeply and try to just relax. It works for the next 11 seconds.  
  
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!  
  
I jump about 50 feet in the air. I slowly press the open button -the door swings out toward me and I quickly duck to avoid being knocked out. The meals steam tumbles out of the door.  
  
"This is it."  
  
I head toward the gravity room.  
  
  
  
It's been three hours since my fight with Yamcha, and yet his words still linger in my mind. Do I really care that much about a silly woman? Coincidentally at that moment there is a knock on the door and Bulma walks in, blue hair luminous below me. I pretend not to notice her and continue training, although I don't quite know why. My fists fly through the air at the speed of sound. That'll impress her.  
  
"Uh, Vegeta?" I look down and pretend to be surprised. She's holding a plate of food.  
  
"Finally woman! I'm starving!" I shout down and quickly land in front of her. She hands me the grub silently, and doesn't leave. I look at her, suspecting something's wrong. She takes a strand of hair and twists it absently while fumbling for words.  
  
"Vegeta . . . there's something, well, I mean, something happened, and well, I mean . . . "  
  
"Hurry up and spit it out, I'm trying to train!" I yell through a mouthful of chicken.  
  
"Remember that night about two months ago?" I leer at her, the memory of that wonderful night still fresh in my mind and making me tingle.  
  
"How could I forget?"  
  
"Well, it's . . . I'm . . . " I notice a single tear trickle down her cheek and I reach forward and brush it off with my thumb.  
  
"Tell me." He eyes lock with mine.  
  
"I'm . . . " the speaker beeps loudly, interrupting her. Damn. Dr Briefs voice blares throughout the room, and Bulma and I separate reflexively.  
  
"What is it dad?" she asks.  
  
"There's a slight technical difficulty on the prototype we've been working on, I need you're expertise."  
  
"Ok, be right there," Bulma straddles round awkwardly and leaves the room with a less than subtle air of relief.  
  
I can't help but wonder what's going on.  
  
  
  
If I ever needed a friend it was now. No one knows but me and it's eating me away. I open my eyes gradually; my eyelashes slowly squelching away from their plastered position with tear glue.  
  
"Thing's could be worse, I suppose . . . " I reassure myself. And the more I think about it the more I realise they could be. Vegeta's still here. And even though we've never kissed or even spoken of that night until yesterday, he's still here. I see him everyday.  
  
And God knows I love him. More than anything.  
  
So maybe . . . maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I'm making more of a thing of this than needed. If he was telling me the truth then yes, there's hope.  
  
There's a loud tap on my bedroom door, and I pray it's not Vegeta for fear of my current mood ending in me blabbing everything. The door opens a crack and a shadow is cast in.  
  
It's Vegeta.  
  
  
  
The key. That's all I've come for. My main aim is to be stronger than Kakerott -I will become a super saiyan. If he can, I can! And that boy -the one from the future -he was as strong as Kakerott! That is my aim. It is.  
  
"Where's the key?" I ask the woman sitting idly on her bed, "the key to the gravity room?"  
  
"Oh. Third drawer." She says almost relieved. I take it and I'm just about to leave when I hear her voice.  
  
"Hey Vegeta? I want to ask you a question."  
  
"What is it?" I ask in my deceivably irritable voice without turning.  
  
"Well, do you love me?" I just walk through the door and don't look back, but before I close it I take a deep breath.  
  
"More than life itself, Bulma."  
  
  
  
I watch him go. I don't even attempt to stop him.  
  
So he was telling the truth. Vegeta loves me. And I love Vegeta. He knows it. I know it. Everything's perfect. And now I have to go and ruin it.  
  
"Bulma!!!" he calls. I note the subtle use of my name instead of his usual reference to me as "woman", and poke my head out of the door. I don't answer though because I know my voice will break up and I'll start crying.  
  
"I . . . I mean . . . " he fumbles for words.  
  
"This is the wrong key! How am I supposed to become stronger than Kakerott if I can't train? Tell me that!" he starts off soft and ends up growling the rest, his usual obnoxious self. I just . . . flip. I don't know why, but he annoys me so much sometimes . . .  
  
"Why can't you just be nice for a change?! I think I'm probably the only woman who's ever loved you, and sometimes you're so horrible! Do you think of nothing but your own pathetic pride?"  
  
"You can talk, woman!" I silently note "woman", "You've been moody and wimpy all week, you've been vomiting everywhere but in the toilet, and you seem to have gone insane -eating all my chicken covered in peanut butter!" he cries. He obviously doesn't get it. Without thinking, I just walk right up to his face, grab his hand and put it gently onto my stomach.  
  
"I'm pregnant." I whisper.  
  
  
  
PREGNANT?! Bulma's going to have a baby? MY CHILD?  
  
"P-p-preg-pregnant??? What do you mean pregnant?" I stutter quietly. I don't move my hand -she does it for me. I can see the disappointment on her face at my reaction. But I can't help it -I just thought she was ill or was still in love with Yamcha or something womanly like that -but pregnant?  
  
"But . . . but that's impossible!"  
  
"Unless you need a little talk about the facts of life, you know perfectly well that it's possible," she says, both her hands over her stomach protectively.  
  
"But . . . I . . . are you sure it's not Yamcha's?" I ask desperately.  
  
"Of course not! It's yours. Ours, Vegeta." She says. I'm speechless which is rare for me. She just runs straight past me and I hear the click of her bedroom door as she locks it.  
  
Our conversation sinks in.  
  
I'm going to be a father. I'm going to have a son . . . or daughter, for that matter. A mini Bulma and me.  
  
"Well at least it'll be good looking," I sneer to myself. But really, the whole thing is terrifying . . . me, a father? I could be a good father! I try to imagine myself playing baseball or swinging a child at the park, but they all end in me blowing something up . . . I don't know what to do. And when Bulma eventually emerges I want to speak to her, to make a snide remark or complain or anything! But nothing comes out.  
  
Nothing comes out for the next four months.  
  
  
  
I say "dinners ready," he says "Hmph". And that's about it. For four months.  
  
It's not long before my parents find out about my little secret. Well, it is kind of obvious by the lump growing from my stomach. And being parents, they have to organise a baby shower. Great. And invite Vegeta. Even greater.  
  
The day comes all too quickly -my whole family shows up and when the party starts I get about two hours of mindless dribble along the lines of:  
  
"Congratulations!"  
  
"So what's are you going to name it?"  
  
"When's it due?" I answer it all "happily".  
  
Not one relative asks who the father is. They all assume it's Yamcha's. Yep, he found out I was pregnant, dumped me, but is staying in contact for the kid. I feel like screaming. It's like I'm trapped in a tiny bubble, the walls misty and translucent so I'm burning my lungs screaming for help but no one can hear or see me clear enough.  
  
For a few hours I just stand by the snack table picking at the finger foods and watch my grandma tell the rest of my family all my embarrassing childhood stories while I pretend to listen and interject a small empty laugh here and there in unison with everyone else.  
  
Vegeta doesn't come to the party. He stays in the gravity room training, and of all things I don't blame him because apart from the fact he's too proud and scared to talk to the barer of his own child, this party is as boring at the Mayors election speech on labour day. He's so . . . GR!!! Just leaving me here all alone when it's now I need him more than ever. Selfish. Ignorant. Sexy . . . caring . . .  
  
I rest my hands gently on the small bump protruding from my belly. And I realise I miss him. I miss Vegeta.  
  
  
  
Kakerott. Kakerott. Kakerott. Kakerott. Kakerott. Bulma. Kakerott. DAMNIT KAKEROTT NOT BULMA!!!  
  
I wipe the sweat from my brow with one swift hand and cling to the wall with the other. My leg surges with energy, so I hover up and release it with one deadly blow to the air. I backflip and spring off the wall, holding my hands apart and forcing energy from all over my body up my chest, down my arms, into my pulsing palms.  
  
"FINAL FLASH!" I fire it all forward and teleport back to avoid the explosion before kicking my legs around so fast anybody in my line of fire would be incinerated to jelly. Breathing hard I let myself lower to the floor and cough for a few seconds before the dust clears up.  
  
My stomach lets out strange gurgling noises. I didn't realise how hungry I am. But I can't leave -Bulma's stupid baby parade or whatever the hell it is is being held in the lounge and kitchen.  
  
But a saiyan has to eat . . .  
  
I tell myself all I'm going for is the food, even when I know that I would give anything at that moment to hug Bulma tight and tell her that I want this child more than anything in the world. Yes, I have thought about this offspring over the last few months. I've thought a quite a lot in fact.  
  
And the more I'd pondered the more I realised it was a good thing. That this miracle of life might just be the best thing that's ever happened to me.  
  
Apart from surpassing Kakerott that is.  
  
I was going to be the father of a saiyan -in fact, one of only four saiyans left. I will train it to be strong, far stronger than Kakerott's wimpy son. We will be the two most powerful beings alive! Vegeta and his child, the most feared warriors of all time . . .  
  
Suddenly, being afraid of this event seems pitiful. It is my son, or daughter, and I want the whole world to know it!  
  
But first -food. The kitchen awaits.  
  
  
  
I check my watch for about the fiftieth time in two minutes, and sink back into the couch, resting a paper plate on my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye I see another guest being welcomed in. I curse my luck when I realise it's aunt Wilma, possible the most irritating and humiliating relative you could have. Her heavy Texan accent pierces my ears and she waddles over excitably as if I was five and she hadn't seen me in years. I remove the plate and stand up, smiling falsely and almost getting crushed in a bear hug.  
  
"How've y'all been? My what a looker she is, ain't she Hermit? I'll bet Yamcha is so proud!" she comments, standing back to admire me. I blush slightly and scratch the back of my neck. My uncle Hermit agrees, stuttering along with a wife twice the size of him. I'd forgotten how much my aunt Wilma had taken a shining to Yamcha. She's going to be devastated when I tell her we've broken up . . . she looks at my stomach in wonder.  
  
"Well aren't we coming along fine, Bulma dear? That belly o' yours is bigger than an African elephant!" One thing about aunt Wilma, she knows her geology. How she can be so smart and yet so . . . aunt Wilmer-ish is beyond me. I nod and cup my hands over my stomach.  
  
"Yeah well, it's due in about two months." I say.  
  
"Well I'll be darned! Bulma's gonna be a momma so soon!" I smile sweetly.  
  
"So, have you and its daddy thought of any names for the little tyke yet?" she asks, obviously meaning Yamcha. I open my mouth to reply when I feel a hand rest on top of mine on my stomach, and another on my shoulder. I feel Vegetas breath on my neck as he says,  
  
"We're going to name our baby Trunks."  
  
  
  
I grin as about every person in the room turns toward me, their jaws open in shock. One woman drops her tea.  
  
"Is . . . is this true Bulma? Is he the father?" asks the woman who had just been badgering Bulma with questions in her irritating accent. I remembered her from a visit about a year ago -when Bulma and that thick shit Yamcha were still together. Hah! She had adored him like he was a king! I can't help feeling a huge sense of self-satisfaction.  
  
"Yeah . . . " she agrees.  
  
"But what about Yamcha! He was such a handsome young man!"  
  
"He cheated and we broke up a while ago." Bulma explains reluctantly. Her mother approaches, so shocked she had nearly opened her eyes.  
  
"But of all people why Vegeta? Sure he's cute, but he's . . . Vegeta!" I growl angrily at her.  
  
"Just because I'm a saiyan warrior doesn't mean I can't love your daughter and our child!" I yell angrily. Bulma steps out of my arms and turns to face me.  
  
"What did you just say?"  
  
"I . . . " I take her hand and lead her into the hallway.  
  
"Vegeta . . . " I grin my grin. And kiss her. As our lips interlock and her arms wrap around me, I rest one of my hands on her waist, and the other onto a small bump in my back pocket.  
  
A wedding ring.  
  
  
  
Shorter than the last one. Still sweet though. Couldn't think of a funny ending . . . you'll have to put up with that. Yes, there is more to come. So review. Please.  
  
Yes, I am the queen of short sentences.  
  
And I am aware that if Bulma tells Vegeta she's pregnant two months into it, and then the party's four months later that only makes her 6 months pregnant and she has three months left, but for the purpose of this fic pregnancy for saiyan children is eight months. So sue me is she had to have a big stomach in as little time as possible. 


End file.
